


Fantasmic!

by mambo



Series: mambo's major works [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes Is Prince Charming, Disney, Disney References, Everyone Is A College Kid Working At Disney, Fluff, M/M, One Scene With Minor Violence, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Works In Tomorrowland, Tony Is An Imagineer, disney world au, tiny!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Steve's second summer working at Disney World when he meets Prince Charming (aka: Bucky Barnes, college kid from Brooklyn whose ass looks absolutely devastating in his Prince Charming slacks) and maybe starts to feel a little Disney magic in his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasmic!

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon for Steve is usually that he is/wants to be a Disney animator (AU, pre-serum, etc.). This is what happened when that idea got out of hand.

“Fate is kind

She brings to those who love

The sweet fulfillment of

Their secret longing.

Like a bolt out of the blue

Suddenly it comes in view

When you wish upon a star

Your dreams come true.”

—From “When You Wish Upon a Star” from Walt Disney’s _Pinocchio_ (1940)

**…**

It happens in an instant, like it always does.

One moment, the little girl is happily eating her Mickey Mouse-shaped ice cream confection. The next, it’s on the ground, quickly melting into a chocolate and vanilla puddle on the hot Florida asphalt. Her mouth begins to wiggle, her cheeks turn red—well, they were sunburned red to begin with, but they get _redder_ —and her eyes fill with big tears tears. Steve knows that this is the moment and it’s time to go into action. The No Sad Kids Rule is now in effect; it is fully within his rights as an employee to swoop in and grab her a new—

“Princess!”

Stepping away from the cast members who are working as his handlers, Prince Charming—literally, a cast member playing Prince Charming—swoops down to the little girl and kneels so that he’s eye-level with her. “What’s wrong, princess?” He’s got these huge blue eyes, which are staring so intensely at her that this little girl looks like she’s gonna melt just like her ice cream, leaving nothing but her jelly sandals and green Tinker Bell tank top behind.

“M-my ice cream,” she manages as her mom sneakily takes an iPhone picture of the scene. The little girl points to the dead Mickey bar, which the girl’s mom takes a picture of, too. Because that’s definitely a memory for the Facebook photo album.

“Oh no, princess!” Charming says, looking down at the mess and making a small clucking noise of displeasure. “Now that just won’t do, not for a beautiful princess like yourself!” He straightens up and reaches a gloved hand out to her. “Shall we go get you another?” he asks with a suave grin. She nods, apparently made mute by this Prince Charming, then shyly reaches for his hand. Once she does, he squeezes it tight and looks back at her parents. “Come along then, my king and queen! We’re on a quest for the princess’s ice cream and we cannot be swayed from this just path!”

Steve watches him walk away with the family, gabbing about his princess and asking them all about their favorite ice creams and the worst part is probably the fact that Steve _knows_ that this guy should be going on break now and that he won’t get this time back from his lunch break but he does it anyway. It almost seems _too_ appropriate that he was cast as Prince Charming. Steve rolls his eyes and falls a little in love at the same time and that’s not fair; he’s working behind the scenes now and should be immune to Disney magic (except he’s not—that’s the whole reason he came back this summer—and he doesn’t think he ever will be, especially when people like that guy are around).

**…**

“You should’ve seen it,” he tells Sam that night while they lay in their separate twin beds with the lights on, since both of them are too exhausted to get up and turn them off. “This girl looks like the earth’s just swallowed her whole… but in the best possible kind of way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid look happier and this is my second summer working at _Disney World_.”

“You sure that wasn’t just you reacting to Bucky Barnes’s ass in those Prince Charming slacks?”

“Bucky Barnes?” Steve asks, face getting a little red because Bucky Barnes’s ass was utterly devastating in those Prince Charming slacks, not that he had noticed. Not at all.

Sam kind of grunts in affirmation. Steve knows that he’s keeping Sam awake, but he maybe just wants a tiny bit more information before he lets Sam sleep. Which is definitely unfair, since there was a leak on one of the Pirates of the Caribbean boats today and a tourist from Colorado literally jumped on Sam’s shoulders, thinking that she’d drown in the six inches of water. “Yeah, Bucky Barnes is the man himself. Wouldn’t get too attached, though. Rumor is that everyone’s after that ass. He’s got some kind of Disney magic going on in his pants and you’re not the only one who’s noticed.” He pauses. “Now shut the hell up before I make you. I’ve got the first shift tomorrow and that means all toddlers, all day.”

Steve sighs. He’s got the opening shift tomorrow, as well. His job on the People Mover isn’t straining by any means, but it gets humid in Tomorrowland, which makes his asthma act up. “Night Sam,” he says, not wanting to goad his roommate any further. Sam grumbles something unintelligible and the two go to sleep.

**…**

A few nights later, Steve lets Tony talk him into going to a party at someone’s off-compound apartment. It’s dark, dingy and in the middle of Orlando, so Steve’s already on edge, even with Sam tagging along with them. It’s a good twenty minute drive in Tony’s car—he graduated from MIT last year and went straight to the Imagineering Department; Sam’s studying aeronautics at MIT and introduced the two of them—and it’s on the sixth floor with no elevator, so Steve’s already winded by the time they get up to the small room. Steve can hear the music blasting from under the door halfway down the hallway, which isn’t a good sign.

When make it over to the door in question, Tony does the knocking. Steve thinks it’s probably a futile gesture, given the level of noise radiating from the apartment, but a moment later the door opens and reveals a beautiful redhead holding a plastic cup of beer. She takes one look at Tony and raises an eyebrow. “And who invited you?” she asks.

“Clint,” Tony says. “Said, ‘Natasha’s having a party and is too scared to invite you, so you better just show up.’ So I did! Aren’t you ecstatic? C’mon honey, look ecstatic for me. I bet it’s a great look on you. Honestly I bet _smiling_ is a great look on you, but I’ve never actually seen you smile, come to think of it. Anyhow, I brought two hangers on. Don’t worry, the little one’s not gonna drink much.”

“There’s no way that—“

 ****“Natalia!” Suddenly there’s a very intoxicated Bucky Barnes banging into Natasha/Natalia’s hip, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and whispering something into her ear before breaking out in giggles. Steve can’t tell if he’s drunk or high or both, but he looks happy. He looks over the three of them, eyes lingering on Steve for a second too long and Steve glances away, because he’s wearing a leather jacket and jeans and his dark hair is devilishly disheveled and… Well, Steve’s never been the Cinderella, type is all. Never had a moment where he’s walked into a party and had the whole room stop and stare, except to maybe wonder why he’s there at all. So Prince Charming’s not gonna give him the time of day now.

And he’s right, since Bucky drags Natasha/Natalia onto the dance floor just as Steve’s looking back. Steve bites down on his bottom lip and nearly asks to go home, but Sam puts an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “C’mon Steve, we’re in!” He drags Steve through the doorway, Tony already lost in the crowd.

And it’s not a bad night, but it’s a bit distracting that he never catches another glimpse of Bucky or Natasha/Natalia. Well, at least they’re having a magical evening.

**…**

The next night, Steve skips out on socializing and heads over to Hollywood Studios after his shift to see Fantasmic!. It’s Steve’s guilty pleasure. Whenever he has a night off, he tries to make it over there. Sam likes to tag along if he can, even if he’s not as into the show as Steve is. “It’s enough that you like it,” Sam says. “Besides, it’s not like there’s much else for me to do out here past eight o’clock.” Which is definitely untrue, but Steve appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

But tonight they’re running a bit late, so they end up in the standing room-only section in the back. But since Steve’s been here… well, he’s been here way too many times, he knows all the tricks. He takes Sam back to the raised concrete platform at the back of the stadium, right next to the sound booth. There’s just enough room to stand on top of it, leaning back on the fence that marks the edge of the stadium. It’s a good view, and Steve doesn’t have to stand on his tiptoes the whole time and be embarrassed that he’s about as tall as the kids in the audience.

There’s something about Fantasmic! that never fails to put Steve in a good mood. Before he worked at Disney, Steve never failed to be amazed at the hokey magic that makes the place what it is. But sometimes in his day-to-day life as a cast member, he gets lost in the codes and calculations of the park, the perfected formula of fun concocted by Imagineers and used by cast members. Sure, it equated to a guest’s perfect day, but sometimes it was just so exhausting. But when the grind gets tiring and a tourist yells at him for something that’s not his fault or a kid vomits on his shoes, he always comes back to this place, to Fantasmic! It reminds him of why he’s always wanted to work here, and renews that warm feeling of home, of fun, of Disney that’s so easy to lose.

Steve first started working at Disney because he is studying to be an animator and thought maybe it’d give him a foot in the door for his dream job. He came back because to him, Disney World is about as perfect as a place can get.

“Hey man, Maria’s on glowing swords duty and I want to run over and give her shit. You cool to stay here alone for a few minutes?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not a four year-old, Sam.”

“Force of habit,” Sam says, then adds: “Doesn’t help that you act like one.” He winks, hops off the concrete and disappears into the crowd. Sam spots Maria down in the stands, walking through the crowds waving an overpriced, glowing sword and wearing light-up Mickey Mouse ears. She’s got a good pokerface on, but he knows that she’s probably dying a bit on the inside each time. And on the outside, too, since many of the enthusiastic kids with swords end up hitting her with them after their parents hand over the $15. 

Steve shoves his hands into his pockets and contents himself with people watching. It never gets old, watching people at Disney. Sometimes it reminds him of _Anna Karenina_ , or at least the first sentence: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” By the time that Fantasmic! rolls around, most families are looking haggard and are getting crabby. Parents start making curt remarks to one another while kids beg for bedtime.But there’s usually at least one member of each family that _understands_ , that transcends the drama of their situation and falls under Disney’s spell. Rather than focus on the families sniping at one another, Steve always tries to pick that one happy person out. Steve likes it when it’s a challenge, when he really has to focus to figure out who it is. Sometimes it’s a teenager, looking sullen but silently trying to find hidden Mickeys, keeping a secret tally on their phone when they’re pretending to text. Or maybe it’s a dad, who tears up at the Hall of Presidents, remembering when Richard Nixon was just getting settled in there. And he grabs his son’s hand, wanting him to remember this moment, like he remembers his dad grabbing his hand while watching this silly bit of animatronic history. But it’s great even when it’s obvious. There’s nothing like seeing a seven year-old meeting their favorite character for the first time, because Peter Pan tells you that you’re special, you suddenly _are_. For a brief moment, you’re the shining center of a happy universe, one where dreams come true.

Okay, maybe Steve was one of those kids. But isn’t that the whole point?

Then the crowd jostles and someone bumps into Steve’s side, startling him out of his train of thought.

“Sorry,” the guy says. “Didn’t mean to nudge ya, there.”

Steve turns around and his throat goes suddenly very dry. It’s Bucky Barnes.

“D-don’t worry about it,” Steve says, shoving his hands even farther into his jacket pockets and looking around to see if Sam’s going to come save him. But of course, Sam’s nowhere in sight. When he looks back down, Bucky’s looking at him a little expectantly, like he said something that Steve missed. Steve goes a little red. “Sorry, did you…” He can feel his face get a bit red and this is definitely going to ruin Fantasmic! for him forever. Which is just Steve’s luck.

But Bucky just smiles. “You work in Tomorrowland, right?” Steve nods, swallows hard, hoping to get rid of the lump that’s lodged itself in Steve’s throat. How the hell did he know that? “I’ve seen you ‘round.” He glances away. “I, uh, play Prince Charming in Fantasyland.” He glances back up through his eyelashes and in the light of the stadium, it makes Steve’s knees a bit weaker than usual. Which is saying something, since Steve’s knees are naturally rather weak. “Cinderella’s Charming, not Snow White’s, if that makes a difference,” he says. He grabs his left elbow with his right hand and bites down on his bottom lip while he smiles.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I know. I… I saw you take a girl to replace her ice cream the other day.”

“Aw jeez.” Bucky looks down and shuffles his feet, almost like he’s embarrassed. “I got a little sister, y’know? So I have a real soft spot for tykes who drop their ice cream. Maybe I go a bit overboard, but y’know, been there. It sucks.”

“I don’t think so,” Steve says before he can stop himself. “You probably made her whole trip. Prince Charming getting her ice cream? She’ll probably remember that on her death bed. That’s why we do this job, isn’t it?” Internally, Steve kicks himself for saying something so dumb, but Bucky’s whole face lights up.

“What? You’re not here for the stellar pay and minimal college credit?”

“You caught me,” Steve says. “I really needed to come to Orlando to get those last two credits.”

Bucky laughs, low and gritty. “Where’re you hailing from that Orlando is such a long journey?”

“Brooklyn,” Steve says. “Though I guess Manhattan now, since I go to NYU.”

Bucky’s eyes get wide. “No shit?” he asks.

“No… uh…”

“I go to The New School. But I’m also from Brooklyn.”

“Explains the accent,” Steve says.

Bucky scowls, but there’s no heat behind it. “Doesn’t explain why you don’t have one.”

“Touché.”

Bucky’s still grinning up at Steve, though after a moment, his expression becomes a bit more shy. “Mind if I, uh, join you?” he asks, then glances to the side. “Though honestly, I got ulterior motives.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “I come here all the time but never got the courage to talk to ya. Bumpin’ into you was real dumb luck.”

What.

Steve takes too long to reply and Bucky’s face falls, like he thinks he’s going to be rejected, which is ridiculous, since Steve’s positive that no one could see those eyelashes and think to themselves that they’re not going to do absolutely everything in their power to keep them around as long as humanly possible. “Yeah,” Steve says, a bit dazed. Bucky smiles again and hops up next to Steve. Steve clears his throat and holds out a hand, only slightly embarrassed that he now has to look up at Bucky since, when they’re standing on the same level, Bucky’s got at least six good inches on him. “I’m Steve Rogers,” he says.

Bucky takes it. “James Buchanan Barnes, but people I like call me Bucky.”

“James Buchanan?” Steve asks as their hands linger for a moment too long, which is probably and definitely just his imagination. “Shouldn’t you be working in the Hall of Presidents?”

Bucky snorts. “Jesus Rogers, I’ve been here for weeks now and you’re the first one to make that joke. I’ve been waitin’ this whole time and no one’s even gotten near to it.”

“I—“

“Steve!” Steve looks up and Sam’s coming back, just pushing his way through the last few people in the way. If he’s surprised that Bucky’s here, he doesn’t show it, just walks up to the two of them as natural as ever. Then again, maybe Steve’s just weird for being so nervous around Bucky. Or Sam’s got completely unreasonable people skills. It has to be the latter. “Maria’s got this one kid who won’t stop hitting her legs with a rainbow sword and she says she’s gonna go get trashed after this. You in?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ve got early morning Space Mountain duty tomorrow. If I’m hungover while cleaning up vomit then I’m in for a world of hurt.” Bucky sniggers and Sam shrugs.

“Your loss, man.” He looks over at Bucky. “I’m Sam Wilson. Doing a rotation in Frontieerland.”

“Bucky Barnes, Prince Charming.” He holds his hand out. “Cinderella’s Prince Charming.”

“Yeah man, I know,” Sam says, shaking Bucky’s hand and Steve tries to time it out to see if it takes more or less time than his handshake with Bucky did. Of course he can’t tell and then just hates himself for even paying attention to that in the first place. “It’s good to meet you. Heard a lot about you.” And Sam’s dramatically looking over at Steve and if Steve were acting like the four year-old inside his head, he’d definitely be elbowing him in the stomach.

A booming voice announces over the loudspeakers that the show’s about to begin. A few kids start crying, but the crowd starts quieting down as the music begins and the lights start to dim. “I love this show,” Bucky says quietly, barely audible over the noise. And then there’s suddenly something warm by Steve’s side and Bucky’s whispering in his ear, “I never get sick of this. Always makes me remember that this place really _is_ magic, y’know?”

Steve knows. He feels something in his stomach clench as he looks up at Bucky who is still smiling at Steve. The dim light only makes Bucky’s eyes seem bluer, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. Watching him blink shouldn’t be mesmerizing, but somehow it is, and Steve has to work up the nerve to say “Yeah.” His voice comes out breathless and he knows its not the asthma. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

**…**

“Some imagination, huh?” Mickey Mouse says with a chuckle before he vanishes in a cloud of light. There’s silence for a blessed moment, then the audience bursts into applause. Children shout with joy, while adults try to grab their children’s hands and get them on the way to the shuttles before they get too crowded.

“Steve, you cool to get back to the compound on your own?” Sam asks. “I’m gonna wait for Maria to get off so that we can go out.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, still standing on the concrete platform while the crowd mills out of the stadium. He’s in no real rush, and he’d rather wait it out then battle a pack of angry, tired tourists and risk an asthma attack. “I’ll be fine.”

“I can, uh, walk back with you,” Bucky says. Steve nearly jumps; it’s not that he hasn’t been hyper-aware of Bucky for the entirety of the show, but he wasn’t expecting him to interject like that. When Steve looks over, Bucky’s looking away and scratching the back of his neck. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“No,” Steve says. “No, that’s great.”

Bucky looks up. “Neat,” he says.

“Catch you idiots later,” Sam says before disappearing into the crowd again, leaving Steve alone with Bucky Barnes, Prince Charming, who believes that Fantasmic! has a little magic in it.

They wait silently until the crowd has dissipated somewhat. “Ready?” Bucky asks. Steve nods. Bucky jumps off the concrete and holds a hand out to Steve, practiced like he’s always handing people down from high places. Which he probably does, come to think of it, since Cinderella is always going in and out of carriages in hoop skirts. But Steve is not Cinderella, never has been, and definitely does not need help getting down.

Steve resolutely _does not blush_ and rolls his eyes. “Thanks Prince Charming, but I can get down by myself.” Steve jumps down, and he may not be a goddamn cat like Bucky is, but he doesn’t stumble, so he considers that a win.

Bucky lets his hand drop, but laughs. “You know, I really wanted to be Captain Hook.” Steve starts walking and Bucky easily falls into step with him. “It’d be real fun to scare kids with the hook. Or to work on the Haunted Mansion. But when I went in for the audition they kept making me read for Princes. I thought for sure they’d make me a bad guy, but I didn’t even get to read for Hans.”

“From _Frozen_?” Steve asks.

Bucky smiles and nods. “I’d’ve been a _great_ Hans. I’m really manipulative.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Steve says.

“I got you to walk back with me, didn’t I?”

Bucky’s biting his lip again, looking shy and a little nervous and not manipulative at all. Then again, maybe he’s just a good actor—there’s nothing Steve could do to make Bucky Barnes, literal Prince Charming, nervous, right? The mere thought of that seems ridiculous. “I was going home anyway,” Steve finds himself saying. “It’s not like it’s a hassle.”

“Being not a hassle is all I strive for in this life,” Bucky says as they turn onto Sunset Boulevard. The street is packed with people leaving the show. Bucky takes one look at the crowd, then swings an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him in close. Steve can feel the warmth radiating off Bucky and his shoulder knocks into Bucky’s chest. “So we don’t get separated,” he explains. Steve wants to protest, but Bucky cuts him off before he can even formulate some kind of complaint. “My sis got lost in a crowd like this in the Magic Kingdom when we were kids, after the fireworks. We were right in front of the castle and the crowd began to move around us. She had a good eye on me, but Becky? Poof. Vanished. My ma panicked. And you know what I say to her?”

“No,” Steve says, feeling small but comfortable underneath Bucky’s arm. “Tell me.”

“I say, ‘I can think of worse things than gettin’ lost at Disney and havin’ to spend forever here.’ She nearly batted me over the head when I said that. I’m sure she woulda had she not spotted my sis in the crowd. A Tomorrowland cast member was holding her hand and she was pointin’ to us, tellin’ him that we were over there. My ma teared up and ran over to my sis, nearly losin’ _me_ in the process.” He’s grinning and Steve starts laughing. “Wouldn’t’ve really minded. I think about that a lot when I’m here; I didn’t get lost, but my mind’s always been stuck in this place.”

“I think it’s every kid’s dream to live here,” Steve says. They pass by a candy shop and Steve’s lost for a moment, remembering the time that he walked in there with Peggy, walked out of there with Peggy, no money in his wallet and a giant bag of cotton candy that the two of them had shared.

“I never grew out of it,” Bucky says, interrupting Steve’s memory. “I get the feeling you didn’t either.”

Steve looks up; Bucky’s eyes look so incredibly blue underneath the streetlights and neon signs of the Boulevard. They’d almost be cartoonish, but there hasn’t been a Disney prince from Brooklyn yet. “There’s a reason I’m here right now.”

“Not for the company?”

Steve would blush, but is interrupted by a sugar-high little kid running into his legs. Steve flies back, knocking into Bucky. Bucky’s grip on his shoulders gets tighter, keeping Steve from sinking to his knees. Bucky’s other hand is on Steve’s arm, steadying him. “Sorry mister!” the kid yells as his tired-looking father chases after him, telling him to slow down and wait up.

“You alright?” Bucky asks as Steve straightens up. Bucky drops the hand from Steve’s arm, but still has his other arm slung across his shoulders, face still hovering close to Steve’s. When Bucky speaks Steve can feel his breath on his ear, which Steve resolutely tries to ignore in favor of things that don’t make his heart beat like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Sorry.”

Bucky laughs, finally straightening up and away from Steve. He begins walking again, pulling Steve along with him. “Don’t apologize. Those gosh darned super-powered kids nowadays are always causin’ trouble.”

“Hey—“ Steve begins.

“I’m just teasin’,” Bucky says, poking Steve’s side with the hand that’s not still slung across his shoulders. “I like that you can fit under my arm like this.” He pulls Steve in a bit closer. Even though Disney World is basically a swamp, and it’s humid all the time, this night’s a little chilly. Bucky’s warm and his red flannel feels good against Steve’s skin in ways that he doesn’t want to think about, since he’s confused about why Bucky is even talking to him in the first place, let alone is doing… whatever it is he’s doing.

“You’re kind of weird,” Steve says, somewhat a revelation to himself, then immediately regrets it. He looks up, worried that Bucky took it the wrong way.

But Bucky’s looking down at him with those darn eyes twinkling with something like fondness. “You’ve got me figured me out, huh?” he asks quietly.

“You’re not hard to read,” Steve says.

The smile falters for a second, but before Steve can figure out why, Bucky’s looking back up. “I think Hollywood Studios is my least favorite park,” he says. “The Great Movie Ride’s okay, and I love Fantasmic!, but the rest of this park doesn’t seem well planned out, not like the rest of ‘em. What about you?”

“EPCOT,” Steve says automatically.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “But the World Showcase…”

Steve tries not to think of the previous summer, where he’d get up every morning and head over to the American Pavilion where he peddled American flag pins and talked about the Presidents. He tries not to think of sneaking off to England during every break and seeing Peggy in Mary Poppins’s white _Jolly Holiday_ get-up, her smile as she signed autographs for little kids and her good-natured smirk whenever she looked at whoever was playing Burt with her that day. It’s not that these good memories have turned bad, or anything, but there’s just a dull ache in remembering them and the fact that Peggy’s back in England now and isn’t coming back.

“I worked there last summer, in the United States Pavilion,” Steve admits. “Just think that it’s kind of hard to stick the character of an entire country into three buildings. Plus, the only good rides in the park are Mission Space and Maelstrom and rumor is that they’re getting rid of Maelstrom next year.”

“No shit?” Steve nods. “That sucks, I love the trolls.” Bucky pauses. “Bet your favorite is Magic Kingdom.”

“That’s not a fair bet; _everyone’s_ favorite is the Magic Kingdom.”

Bucky laughs, then says: “Sharon Carter, you know her?” Steve nods, but it feels forced. He doesn’t actually _know_ her, per se, but Peggy messaged him about a month before he came here to say that her cousin got a job as Cinderella and that he should go to dinner with her, since she could use a friend. He never went to dinner with her, but from what Steve could tell, she didn’t need much help making friends. “Cool,” Bucky says. “Her favorite’s the Animal Kingdom. Says it’s the most _cohesive vision_ of a park, the best _overall experience_.” Bucky’s voice gets a little sarcastic in his impression of her, but it’s fond.

“But the Magic Kingdom is still your favorite,” Steve says, a challenge.

“You ever been here around Christmas time?” Steve shakes his head and Bucky smiles. “Everything’s all lit-up and they pump peppermint scent into Main Street. Like, I know it’s all manufactured and whatever, but it’s perfect, like whatever Christmas spirit is real is in the Magic Kingdom during December.” He pauses, breathes deep, like he’s trying to remember the scent. “I love it,” he says. “The Magic Kingdom is the best all year, but the cheer, it’s… palpable.”

“You’re a sap,” Steve says, but the effect is lost to the smile that forced its way onto Steve’s face. “I bet your favorite ride is Peter Pan.”

“How’d you guess?” Bucky asks as they exit the park. Steve hadn’t really realized that they had been walking for quite so long. He’d been a bit caught-up in Bucky, he realizes with a bit of embarrassment.

“I don’t think you’re grown-up at all.”

And Bucky grins wide, like that’s some sort of compliment. “Let me guess your favorite…” As they walk out the gates, the crowd begins to dissipate. Bucky should let go of him now, Steve knows, but for some reason he doesn’t. Steve should push Bucky off of him but… Well, it is a bit chilly, is all. “It’s A Small World?” he asks, sounding a bit hesitant.

“Are you kidding me?” Steve asks, barking out a laugh. “Have you ever met _anyone_ whose favorite ride is It’s A Small World?”

“Oh shit, and you just said that you didn’t like World Showcase.”

“It’s A Small World is just the World Showcase with terrifying puppets singing the world’s most annoying song, Bucky.”

“In my defense, you’re about as tall as those—“

Bucky doesn’t finish because Steve very aggressively elbows him in the stomach. Maybe a bit too much because Bucky has to take a few staggering steps to the side. His arm slips off Steve’s shoulders. Steve takes a hesitant step forward, worried that Bucky’s hurt or offended, but Bucky’s just laughing. “Punk,” Bucky gasps out as he laughs, hand resting on the sore spot. When he calms down he starts walking again, going slow enough that Steve can keep up at ease. “Y’know, you may be a twig, Steve Rogers, but your elbow is thorny.”

“Want me to use it again?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows.

“No sir.” Bucky looks forward towards the parking lot, hands firmly jammed in his jean pockets. “I’ll keep my distance, please and thank you.”

 _I wish you wouldn’t_ , Steve thinks, but just lets himself be content with walking next to Bucky. It’s already more than he ever expected. “Dumbo,” Steve says. “Dumbo’s my favorite.”

“That’s perfect,” Bucky says, looking down at him again with something like fondness. “Perfect,” he repeats, looking down at his feet, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks from the parking lot lights.

Steve swallows, and worries about diving in too deep.

**…**

Two tram rides and a short walk later, the two of them are back at the compound. It takes them almost an hour and, honestly, it’s one of the best hours of Steve’s summer thus far. He doesn’t want it to end, he realizes with a pang as they near his place. “It was nice meetin’ ya,” Bucky says when they get to the front door of Steve’s apartment. “I… uh… Look, I had a lot of fun with you.” Bucky wipes his bottom lip with his tongue; Steve can’t help but to notice just how _red_ his lips are, how they seem chapped from the humid Florida weather. “And, I mean, you don’t have to say yes or anythin’, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to hang out sometime. Maybe this week… Summer’s not too long and—“

“Gimme your phone,” Steve says too quickly. “I’ll put in my number.”

Bucky looks startled for a second, but grins as he pulls an iPhone from his back pocket. He puts in his password and swipes it open, then hands it over to Steve. It’s got a gummy-feeling blue case on it that Steve grips as Steve puts his name and number in it. He completely resists looking through the rest of Bucky’s contacts, not wanting to think about how he probably just asks everyone for their numbers. “I’ll text you,” Bucky promises when Steve hands it back. “So that you have my number. Tonight, when I get back. I’ll text you. Okay?”

“Sure,” Steve says, pulling out his keys. “Thanks,” Steve says, not even sure what he’s thanking Bucky for.

“No problem, Stevie,” Bucky says. He bites down on his lip as he grins, then turns away and heads down the corridor.

Steve can’t help but notice that Bucky’s butt doesn’t _just_ look good in his Prince Charming slacks.

**…**

About ten minutes later, Steve’s phone buzzes. He’s just finished up the salami sandwich he slapped together after getting back. His phone’s sitting next to his plate, buzzing with a text from an unknown number that reads: _This is Bucky Barnes_. For some reason the perfect grammar and formality surprise Steve. It makes him smile.

 _Thanks_ , he texts back, then sets the phone back on the table. He glances at his watch; it’s almost eleven, so Bucky’s probably heading to bed and is not gonna--

The phone buzzes before Steve can finish the thought, no more than twenty seconds after Steve sent his last text. _Now you have my number._ Steve snorts, because it’s obvious and a little weird and something warm lights up inside him. But before he can think of something to say, there’s yet another text from Bucky. _I want to hang out again. Are you free on Monday after four?_  

It just so happens that Steve is. _Yeah._ He texts back.

_Cool. I’ll pick you up at your apartment. :)_

Steve doesn’t respond, since he thinks me may burst from… from whatever the heck this is. But that doesn’t stop him from just kind of dumbly smiling at his phone, marveling at his luck and wishing that were tomorrow were Monday. But it’s Thursday night and there’s a full, tourist-heavy weekend in front of him and he’s got a shift at Space Mountain that starts at 8:30 am.

**…**

He wakes-up to a Facebook friend request from Bucky, and the only thing that makes him pause is the fact that one of their mutual friends is Peggy Carter.

He accepts it anyway.

**…**

Steve has nothing against Peggy. It’s just that she was Steve’s first everything. First kiss—minus the one very awkward kiss he had with a beautiful, blonde girl at a party his junior year of high school; it was good at the time, but the memory was soured when he found out that she had only done it on a darer—first girlfriend, first… everything. They met on their first day of work at EPCOT and were almost immediately inseparable. By the second week they were seeing each other, and at the end of the summer, Steve was in love. But Peggy told him, “It’s just not going to work when there’s an ocean between us, Steve. We both know that.”

He did know, but that didn’t stop him from spending the first few months of school in a Peggy-less daze, wanting to talk to her about everything, missing her so much it hurt. He knew Peggy would’ve loved New York and he sent her a carefully crafted message in October saying that if she didn’t have plans during her winter break and she could get away, he’d love to have her come visit him in the city. She didn’t respond for a few days, but just before it bordered on rude Steve recieved a carefully crafted message back telling him that she was spending the holidays at her boyfriend’s home, but that she appreciated the offer a lot, Steve, she really did.

After that, it got easier.

They still talk, every now and then. Steve asked if she’d be coming back this summer, but Peggy got an internship at a theater in the West End and decided to go with that. “It’ll be nice to get out of EPCOT; I know how frustrating it got for you,” she said. “Tomorrowland will be fun. I promise.”

He had laughed when he got that message, wondering if it wouldn’t ruin the friendship they had built if he had told her that he wasn’t sure any part of Disney could be fun without her. Now, well… Now he’s beginnign to see that it can be.

**…**

Steve and Sam have their lunch break at the same time the next day, and it takes Sam all of forty-five seconds before he raises an eyebrow and asks, “So how’d it go with Bucky Barnes last night?”

Steve fights back a blush and tries to maintain a neutral face as he pulls his sandwich out of the reusable, blue lunch sack he uses. “It was fun,” Steve says carefully as he opens the ziplock bag it’s in. “I had a nice time.”

“Nice time?” Sam says, looking incredulous. “Looks like he—“

“Steve!” Steve turns around so quick that he feels his neck crack. But it’s worth it because there’s Bucky, grinning at him in his Prince Charming costume. “Hey!”

“Hey Bucky,” Steve says, setting his sandwich down. His throat feels a little dry. Probably just a bit dehydrated. From his long morning in the air-conditioned Space Mountain entryway.

“Look, I gotta run, but, um. Hey. It’s good to see you. I like your uniform. And, I’m looking forward to Monday.” 

“Me too,” Steve manages as Bucky walks backwards a few steps, waves, then turns around and begins jogging to wherever it is he has to be.

Steve watches him go and regrets it when he gets one look at Sam’s knowing face. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I totally met him last night, too, right?” Steve doesn’t say anything, just blushes furiously and glares at his sandwich. He doesn’t bother to get anything else out of the lunch sack. With just one interaction his stomach has too many butterflies to function, let alone eat anything. “So what’s happening on Monday?”

Steve exhales deeply. “We’re gonna hang out,” he says. “After work.”

Sam makes a little whoop of a noise and a few cast members look their way. Steve physically shrinks himself, morbidly embarrassed. “Nice work, Rogers!” Sam says, just as loud because _he’s an asshole_.

“Shut up before I eat you, Wilson,” Steve mumbles, glaring at Sam.

Sam just laughs. “Like you could fit anything more than my left arm in your tiny body.”

**…**

“He knows Peggy,” Steve says that night as he and Sam eat together in their apartment.

“How do you know that?”

Steve pokes at his chicken with his fork. “Saw it on Facebook.”

“So?”

Steve shrugs. “Seems a little weird.”

“What seems a little weird is how you’re fixating on the most insignificant detail about this guy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sam rolls his eyes and forks a piece of broccoli. “Okay Steve, that guy found you at the nerdiest place possible, spent most of the show watching for your reaction to whatever it was Mickey Mouse was doing, then weaseled his way into walking you back home. _Then_ he immediately made plans with to meet up with you. And this afternoon? He was nearly late to his shift just to say _hi_ to you. You should be wondering if it’s gonna be a spring or a summer wedding, Steve, not the fact that he’s Facebook friends with your ex-girlfriend. Besides, why would that even matter? It’s not like Peggy’s gonna go around shit talking you to guys you like just for fun. She’s not like that.”

If Steve spears his own broccoli a little too aggressively, then someone’s watching him a little too closely. “I know,” Steve says. “It just seems weird, is all.”

“Man, that’s _hella_ paranoid.”

“I just…” He sets the fork back down. “I’m over Peggy.”

“Sure you are.”

“But I just…”

Sam sighs softly. “It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay not to be over her. And you know what else is okay?” Steve doesn’t say anything, just picks up his fork again and eats the piece of broccoli on it. “Getting involved with someone even though you’re not sure you’re over her.”

“I don’t even know if—“

“Shush about that, Steve. I saw the way he looked at you, and that’s not the way you look at your new BFF. But you gotta listen to the important part: don’t let Peggy Carter, who you’re no longer involved with and who is across the ocean ruin the chances of you bagging a literal Prince Charming. That’s not what she would’ve wanted for you, either way.”

When Steve finishes chewing, he says, “I don’t know why you’re here, since you’re getting your degree in psychology. Shouldn’t you go volunteer at a lab or something?”

“Honestly Steve? I get enough practice from you bozos and your weird, dramatic relationship problems.”

Steve rolls his eyes but cracks a smile. Sam smiles back.

Steve can’t really wait for Monday.

**…**

There’s a lull on the People Mover—a simple job with almost no chance of vomit clean-up, so a nice break after Space Mountain—on Saturday and Steve takes a moment to check his phone, not expecting anything. He can’t help the feeling in his stomach when he sees that he has not one, but three texts from Bucky.

_12:03: You on lunch break? Come sit with me._

_12:12: I guess you’re not on lunch break. :( I thought you may have been since you were off at noon yesterday. Sorry._

_12:17: That was a stupid thing to apologize for. I won’t apologize. You should guess where I’m taking you on Monday._ :)

Steve knows that he’s not even supposed to have his phone on him, let alone text while he’s on the job, but he allows himself to break the rules, just this once, to say: _Better not be epcot fireworks. Too cliche._

His phone buzzes almost instantaneously. He checks to see if one of his supervisors is nearby—thankfully no one is; the People Mover isn’t a troublesome ride—he lets himself check it. _Of course not. I wouldn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities like that. Wear something that makes you look handsome._

That afternoon, one of the kids on the ride turns to his mom and says, “The guy who let us on was smiling real big! He must be having a really good day!”

**…**

That is until he sees Bucky walking out of the park with his arm slung around the shoulders of the redheaded Natasha/Natalia—whose name he never really learned, having spent most of the party sulking—and saying something into her ear before the two of them laugh. It’s too personal and too much like the way Bucky had slung his arm over Steve’s shoulders in Hollywood Studios.

Steve takes the long way back. He doesn’t think he can stand walking behind the two of them for an hour.

**…**

Steve can’t get himself excited for Monday, even as much as he wants to be. Despite Sam’s firm belief—and pretty constant reminding—that Bucky likes Steve in _that way_ , Steve now knows that it’s not like that. He even checked Bucky’s Facebook page, and it only said interested in women. Not men. Not Steve. He hadn’t told Sam about seeing Bucky and Natasha—he asked around and found out that her name tag says Natasha, so Natalia must be Bucky’s pet name for her—after work, since that seemed somewhat stalkerish, so his enthusiasm didn’t waver, even when Steve’s did.

And it isn’t that Steve doesn’t want to be friends with Bucky. It’s just that…

Bucky understands how Disney is magical. That was something that even Peggy didn’t quite understand when she was here. Disney is run perfectly: the park is immaculate, the staff well-trained. But there is also this undercurrent that runs through it, the feeling that there’s something bigger going on that has nothing to do with the rides or the cast members. And it’s magic. Maybe not mice waving wands or Vodou men in back alleys, but magic nonetheless. It’s a little silly, and Steve knows that not everyone thinks the same way he does, but… Bucky seems to understand it.

Still, after he gets off his shift at two, Steve makes his way back to his apartment and changes. Bucky said he should wear something handsome, but Steve doesn’t really _own_ something ‘handsome.’ For an art student, his fashion sense is stuck somewhere in the Grandpa zone, mostly consisting of plaid shirts and khakis. He puts on a pair of jeans and a button-down plaid shirt; he parts his hair to the side. His bangs aren’t cooperating, falling into his eyes whenever he looks away. Whatever. It’s not like Bucky really cares what Steve looks like. That is, unless he’s embarrassed of the way Steve dresses. But if that’s the case, then Bucky can just… leave. He can just leave. Steve frowns at himself in the mirror as he tries to push his hair back.

Once he’s done getting dressed, it’s only 3:30, so Steve pours himself a glass of water from his Brita filter and surfs the Internet, phone nearby in case something happens and Bucky has to cancel. But the phone doesn’t vibrate, even as much as Steve stares at it, and at 3:59—not that Steve had been obsessively checking the time or anything—the doorbell rings.

“Stay calm, Rogers,” Steve mutters to himself as he gets up from the kitchen table. “None of it means anything.”

Steve walks to the door and opens it. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but Bucky is standing there in a pair of black jeans, a red cardigan whose sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and a grey v-neck t-shirt. His hair smells freshly washed and is slicked back. His hands are stuck in his pockets and he’s looking down until the door opens all the way. “Hey,” he says, looking up through heavy lashes.

God, if Prince Charming had skinny jeans, Cinderella probably would have never tried to run away.

“Hey,” Steve says. “I just gotta grab my stuff. You can come in, if you want.”

“Cool,” Bucky says, but before Steve can turn around, Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and takes a step forward and kisses Steve’s cheek. It doesn’t last long, but it’s longer than a Sunday brunch peck. Bucky’s lips are warm and look perpetually chapped and they’re _on Steve’s cheek_ and he grew up in Brooklyn, too, and this isn’t how he and his friends greeted each other before they hung out (or, well, how Steve’d assume since he hadn’t had many friends growing up). But before Steve can really figure out what the hell that was, Bucky is letting go of his hand and straightening up. He clears his throat and says, “Yeah, so grab your stuff. We gotta get goin’.”

“O… kay,” Steve says, eyeing Bucky with confusion. Bucky’s small smile wavers for a moment, like he’s suddenly unsure of himself. But Steve can’t do anything about that, so he runs to the kitchen table, grabs his phone, wallet and keys and shoves them in his back pocket. He shuts off the lights and locks the door, then joins Bucky out in the hallway. “Okay Charming,” Steve says, having had a few moments to compose himself. “Where’re we headed?”

Bucky perks up again, though he doesn’t seem as excited as he was a few moments ago. Had Steve done the wrong thing? The thought of that doesn’t sit easy in his small chest. “I was thinkin’ we could—“ But Bucky’s phone rings. The ringtone is _Bella Note_ from _Lady and the Tramp_ and Steve tries not to think of a smiling Bucky behind a big plate of pasta in a restaurant with checked tablecloths, pushing a meatball Steve’s way with a fork (sadly, not his nose). “Sorry,” Bucky says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He looks at the screen and frowns.

“Go ahead,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Sorry, just…” Bucky picks up the call. “Sharon, hey, it’s not a good… What?… I’m not… Shit… Do you… I was going to… Sharon… Sharon, I…” Bucky rakes a hand through his hair. “You know that I’m…” He shuts his eyes for a moment, seeming exasperated. “It’s really not a good time, Sharon.” There’s a good thirty seconds where Bucky just stands there, listening to whatever it is Sharon’s talking about and nodding. He studiously avoids eye contact with Steve. “You’re sure?” he finally asks. Then sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes, I will. Okay? Soon.”

Bucky hangs up the phone, and looks at Steve. “I—“

“You’ve gotta go,” Steve says. He gives a half-smile. “It’s important, right?”

Bucky nods. “I… Yeah. It is. A German guy was following Sharon around all day and was apparently trying to get her address. She needs someone to come over, just to make sure he doesn’t hassle her somehow.Not that she can’t take care of herself, but…” He trails off. “Sorry Steve.” He tries to smile, but it looks forced; Steve’s suddenly glad that none of this is happening. “Rain check?” he asks.

Steve nods. “Sure,” he says. “Good luck with… all that.”

Again, Bucky seems to sense Steve’s change of heart. “Alright then, I’ll see you around. I guess.” He turns around quickly and heads down the hallway, striding with a sort of coiled anger. Steve swallows hard, goes back into his apartment and calls Sam. Who doesn’t answer. So then he makes the mistake of calling Tony.

**…**

“Bucky Barnes?” Tony asks, eyebrows raised. They’re at a dive bar just outside of Disney property. It’s the sort of place with a layer of stickiness covering every inch, where you can’t lift your foot up without a layer of filth on the bottom. Usually Steve would avoid a place like this, but it’s that grossness that keeps the tourists away and Steve can barely deal with Tony, who he likes, let alone bermuda shorts-clad families from Tennessee asking him where they can get some free water. The place is filled half with locals and half-cast members, two groups who rarely mix. It can be tense, but both groups share a hatred the Hawaiian shirt-clad tourists and their kids, so there’s a sort of truce in the place. Steve and Tony are on their second round of margaritas. Steve’s feeling it more than Tony, but Tony’s just started getting to the place where he gets intrusive. “You were supposed to go out with Bucky Barnes?”

Steve shakes his head, movements a bit sluggish. “Hang out,” Steve says emphatically. “Not _go out_. He’s not…” Steve makes some kind of flappy movement with his arm, which just makes Tony laugh.

“What, he’s got a limp dick?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve says a little too vehemently for someone whose never seen Bucky Barnes’s dick. “No, not interested in…” _Guys_ , Steve wants to say, but somehow ends up saying, “Me.”

“First off, you obviously haven’t done your research. I know, for a fact, that Bucky Barnes has slept with at least two other cast members. Both of them possess manly parts.”

“But I saw—“

“Quiet while I’m talking, Rogers.” Tony takes another large sip of his drink. “Secondly, the guy’s _Prince Charming_. Of course he’d go for this whole Cinderella before the ball get-up you’ve got going on. Seriously you…” Tony trails off and looks over at the bar. Steve follows his gaze and is on his feet in an instant. “Steve—“ Tony says, but Steve’s already marching over to where some guy is wrapping his arm around Sharon Carter, who is trying to push him off. Suddenly feeling a lot less buzzed, Steve spares a moment to think, _Where the hell is Bucky?_ Before getting over there.

“Hey Sharon,” he says, hoping she’ll play along with him.

“Steve!” she says, relief. “Steve, let’s get out of here. Let’s—“

“Excuse me,” the man says in a thick German accent. “My perfect, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Cinderella is going home with me. I will find her glass slipper and—“

“Excuse me, creep,” Steve says because this guy isn’t _too_ big and is probably all talk. And the fact that Steve wouldn’t have cared either way, so long as he was bothering someone who doesn’t want to be bothered. “Sharon doesn’t want to leave with you. You’re delusional and you better leave this place before I make you.”

“You? Make me? Tiny man? You would do better to leave this place behind before I make you sorry you stepped in.”

Steve swallows. “Yeah? Make me sorry? Make my day, asshole.”

The guy gets up and, yeah, he’s a little taller than Steve expected, but Steve puts up his fists and plants his feet firmly on the ground. At least this has snapped him out of his drunken state and into clear-cut sobriety. Tony’s nowhere to be seen, which is good—he’s probably calling the cops. “Steve,” Sharon says, low.

“Get outta here, Sharon,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off the German guy. “I got this.”

From his periphery, he sees Sharon slip off her barstool, but instead of going out the door, she heads towards the back of the room. But then the guy is trying to punch Steve and Steve is just barely able to swing himself to the side and dodge it. He knocks into a stool and momentarily loses his balance, and the guy uses to the opportunity to kick Steve’s side. Steve winces, but stands up straight again. “That all you got?” he taunts, pushing forward with a punch of his own, which the guy dodges by stepping back with ease.

He raises an eyebrow. “This is a waste of time. My princess is waiting,” he says, then goes for Steve’s face. Steve tries to move, but the bar’s in the way, so he winces and waits for—

“Get the hell away from him!” Steve opens his eyes to see Bucky in front of him, grabbing the arm of the German guy. The tension in Steve’s shoulders drains away. He feels almost at ease, even, knowing that Bucky is here. And that, he manages to think as he watches Bucky twist the guy’s arm around, is dangerous. The guy winces, makes a pained noise, and then Bucky uses his other arm to punch the guy’s face.

“You should not have done zat,” the guy says. He wrenches his arm away from Bucky’s grasp and punches him in the face. It looked like he was aiming for the nose, but Bucky is able to dodge enough that it hits his chin. The guy makes an inhuman grunt, then rams forward, knocking Bucky into a stool. Steve only barely manages to get out of the way as the two end up in a pile on the floor. Something’s cut Bucky’s neck, just below his ear and blood starts seeping out onto the floor. Bucky then grabs the guy’s arms and pins them down as he maneuvers himself so that he’s on top of the guy, knees digging into his chest.

“You’re gonna wish you never touched Steve or Sharon,” Bucky says, digging his knees into the guy’s chest. “And when you wake up, you’re gonna hightail it outta Orlando or else I’m gonna call the cops and they’re gonna get you for stalkin’ a college-age woman. Got it?”

“You haven’t—“

It’s then that Bucky lets go of the guy’s arm, punches him in the face, and the guy goes cold. Steve looks down at the guy’s unconscious body, up to Bucky, then down again. The bartender’s yelling, making a fuss, but Bucky just looks up at Steve. Neither hear a word anyone else is saying.

“You okay?” he asks. Steve nods, but wants to tell him that it’s a silly question, that it should be him asking, that he… “We gotta get outta here. Stark’s pulled the car around.” Bucky gets up, takes one look at the guy and spits on him. He looks back at Steve. “C’mon,” he says, holding out his hand.

Steve grabs it and lets Bucky pull him along behind him.

**…**

After a tense car ride that consists of Tony telling the lot of them that they’re idiots, they end up at Tony’s apartment, since it’s bigger than any of theirs and contains a lot more alcohol. “Clean him up,” Tony says, throwing a first aid kit at Steve. “Sharon and I are gonna call the cops and report that guy, if someone else hasn’t already.” Steve nods dumbly, then walks into the kitchen, where Bucky’s sitting at the table with a glass of water. The overhead light isn’t on, just a tall lamp in the corner of the room, which casts Bucky in an eerie glow, all shadows.

“Um,” Steve says brilliantly. “I’ve got a first aid kit.”

“Neat,” Bucky says, wincing. “Think you may wanna use it on me?”

“That was what I was thinking, generally, so yes.”

“Then stop standin’ there stuttering and patch me up before I turn ninety, ya punk.” Steve doesn’t laugh, but sort of rushes over there, nearly tripping over something laying on Tony’s floor. Tony may be twenty-three, a few years older than Steve, but he’s also a bachelor working at Disney World, so he’s never really grown-up. Steve can’t really blame him for it, but can be irritated by it. “Hey now,” Bucky says softly as Steve blushes bright red. He hopes that Bucky can’t see in the dim light. “Take a breath, bud. And sit, you gotta sit.” Steve does like he’s told. Bucky puts a firm but gentle hand on his knee. “You were real stupid back there,” he says, but it’s not unkind.

“Yeah, but if I didn’t—“

“Yeah,” Bucky interrupts. “It was brave and you may have gotten Sharon outta somethin’ bad. But man, when I saw that guy aimin’ for you…”

“I coulda handled it,” Steve says, looking away. He can feel Bucky lean in closer. “I was just a little tipsy.”

“A ‘lil tipsy?” Bucky asks, smiling now. Steve makes the mistake of turning back to look at him and he’s… well, he’s real close. “You fight better sober?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. His heart’s beating fast because this isn’t happening. Bucky’s still _bleeding_ for christsakes. “Buck, you’re bleeding.”

“Not really, not anymore,” Bucky says. “You gotta worry ‘bout yourself, Steve.” Bucky’s grin fades. “You coulda gotten real hurt.”

“I don’t need anyone protecting me,” Steve says. “I’m no princess.”

Bucky’s tongue runs over his bottom lip. Steve shivers. “I ain’t no prince,” Bucky says, leaning in and kissing Steve. For a moment, Steve tenses, but Bucky pulls his arm around Steve’s head and lets his fingers rest on his neck, stroking his hair and Steve lets out a small, pleased sound. He can feel Bucky smile against his lips and the tension drains from Steve’s body. He grabs Bucky’s shoulder with one hand and the back of Bucky’s head with the other, letting his fingers sink into his soft, dark hair. Bucky kisses him gentle and slow, closed-mouthed and half-smiling. Steve bites down softly on Bucky’s lip and Bucky lets out a soft moan, then Steve lets his tongue trail Bucky’s bottom lip, find its way to the crease between top and bottom. Bucky stiffens for a moment, then pulls Steve closer and parts his mouth.

And it’s almost perfect until Tony walks in, flips on the light and says, “Yo, horny teenagers. If you didn’t notice, Prince Charming’s still bleeding onto my kitchen table.”

Bucky pulls away, grinning and laughing, while Steve turns a horrible shade of red, knowing that Tony will absolutely never let him live this down.

**…**

After Bucky’s patched up, Tony drives them back to the compound. “I’ll let you idiots off together,” he says as he pulls in front of Steve’s apartment. “I’m sure you have some unspeakable things to do to one another and I hate to get in the way of true Disnified romance.” Bucky just laughs as they get out of the car.

“Wanna talk?” Bucky asks, sounding almost shy. Steve shrugs, and they settle on a bench on the sidewalk outside of the apartment. “I’m not gonna kiss you again,” Bucky says sort of resolutely as soon as they sit.

“Oh,” Steve says. His mouth goes dry. “Was I—“

“No, no! Oh god, no Steve.” Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and interlaces his fingers with Steve’s. “No, it’s just that I wanted to… I dunno, do something nice for you.”

“You saved me from getting beaten up in a creepy bar. I think that counts for something, at least.”

Bucky snorts, pulls their intertwined hands into his lap, so that Bucky can stroke Steve’s fingers absently with his other hand. “Yeah, but it’s not a date.”

“Was that what today was supposed to be?” Steve can’t help but ask, feeling too shy and too ridiculous.

Bucky just stares at him. “Are you kiddin’ me?” Bucky asks. Steve shrugs. “Yes,” Bucky says. “I thought I had made that apparent.”

“Not apparent enough,” Steve mutters, then Bucky laughs, a bright, happy sound.

“Idiot,” Bucky says, far too fondly. “I had all these plans! I was gonna take you this one restaurant in Hollywood Studios. It’s Italian-themed, called Mama Melrose’s Ristorante Italiano. You know it?” Steve shakes his head and Bucky lights up. He moves so that he’s looking at Steve, knee touching Steve’s. “It’s good and corny and perfect. It’s always noisy and crawling with ill-behaved kids. The garlic bread tastes like it’s dipped in grease, but it’s so good, Steve. And then I was gonna get a giant plate of spaghetti, and I was gonna make you do the _Lady and the Tramp_ think with a piece of spaghetti and it was gonna embarrass you _so bad_.” Steve bites down on his bottom lip, trying to hide his smile. Hadn’t he been thinking of that earlier? It feels like too much of a coincidence to be true. “But I wouldn’t kiss you! Not then! Nah, I’d just drop the noodle with, like, a half inch between us. And you’d be blushin’ so bad.” He bumps Steve’s shoulder with his and grins.

“That’s a little unfair,” Steve says, but Bucky puts a finger to his lips.

“That didn’t meant there wasn’t gonna be no kissin’ on our first date.” Steve raises his eyebrows and pointedly looks down at Bucky’s finger. Biting his own lip and reeling back just a bit, having way too much fun describing his weird little fantasy date, he pulls the finger back. “What I was gonna do next was pack you right up on a bus to the Magic Kingdom. And yeah, it mighta been a ‘lil dumb, since we’ve seen ‘em a million times, but I was gonna take you to Main Street, right by the statue of ol’ Walt and Mickey to watch the fireworks.” Steve thinks, dumbly, that fireworks can’t really compare with the sparkle in Bucky’s eyes when he’s this animated and excited, but he keeps that _incredibly dumb_ comment to himself. “And when Tinkerbell flies by, I was gonna grab your hand and point to her, saying to look over there! And you’re so gullible that you’d do just that. And it’d just so happen that my face would be right where your head turns and _then_ , then I was gonna kiss you. With the music and the fireworks and Stevie, it was gonna be perfect.”

“Too good to be true,” Steve shoots back and Bucky groans.

“Nothin’ goes right in my life. I’m gonna tell you that now,” Bucky says. He looks down at his hands, which are resting in his lap. He flexes his fingers out. “You know I met your ex, Peggy.” Bucky looks sort of defeated and Steve deflates.

“No,” Steve says.

“Yeah. I spent last semester in England. She directed a play I was in; she’s the one who told me to try for the job here. She told me that when I got here, I had to meet her friend, Steve. That he was the only other person she’d ever met who really understood Disney the way I did.” He looks up. “And I kind of scoffed, but the first weekend… Everyone was partyin’, but I hadn’t seen _Fantasmic!_ since I was little. And I just don’t feel like havin’ anyone come with me, because they’ll talk through it, or make fun of it or somethin’ stupid like that, which just… Isn’t right. So I go by myself. And I’m feelin’ a little weird, bein’ a twenty-one year-old guy at this show, all by myself. And then I look a few rows up and there you are. And god, you were just so… At home.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I wanted to be at home, too. If that makes any sense at all.” Steve nods. “Say somethin’, Steve because I’m not sure I don’t have a concussion and I’ve been talkin’ like an idiot.”

“When you said you weren’t gonna kiss me again, did that mean I can’t kiss you?”

Bucky looks at him kind of startled, like somehow didn’t understand why Steve would want to kiss him. It is literally the most ridiculous look Steve’s ever gotten from anyone in his entire life, so Steve leans in and kisses Bucky gently, just wanting him to stop looking at that. Bucky makes a small, breathy noise and his big hand reaches for Steve’s cheek. He lets it rest there as Steve kisses him, thumb making small circles on Steve’s cheek bone.

After a few minutes of tantalizingly chaste kisses, Steve pulls away. “You didn’t need fireworks, Bucky. This is… It’s great. It’s perfect.”

Bucky grins, something twisted in it. “You deserve a prince,” he says. “Or princess,” he allows, voice joking but expression becoming serious. “I just wanted to give that to you.”

“That’s the thing about magic,” Steve says. “It doesn’t come from the pomp and the circumstance. It comes from here…” He presses his arm to Bucky’s chest, over his heart. Though he’s looking at his hand, he can hear Bucky exhale. Then Steve looks up and Bucky’s looking down at him with a sincere smile, so much fondness in his eyes and Steve thinks that he may just burst from it all. “And you’ve got a big heart, Bucky Barnes, and I think you’ve got a lot of magic in it.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says softly, reaching up and taking Steve’s hand in his own, interlacing their fingers again.

They smile dumbly at each other for a minute, just holding hands in the cool Florida night. “Want to come inside?” Steve asks, thinking about how unbearable it would be to break the spell of the moment, this strange little world they’ve created between the two of them in such a short amount of time.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I’d like to.”

And what happens in there? Well, that’s a little piece of magic, too.

**…**

That Thursday they go on their first official date, first to Mama Melrose’s Ristorante Italiano, where their knees touch under the checkered tablecloth as they eat greasy garlic bread and pasta. Then they head to the Magic Kingdom and Bucky’s able to push their way over to the statue, where they both salute Walt and his mouse. And, when the moment comes, it’s Steve who points out Tinkerbell, gets up on his tiptoes and kisses Bucky Barnes on the lips as voices sing, ‘ _anything your heart desires will come to you’_ over the loudspeakers.

“Glad I came to Disney this summer,” Bucky whispers between kisses.

“Me too,” Steve responds. “Me too.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was almost finished for over two months before I decided to edit the last 1,000 words and actually put it online. I said to myself, "No one wants to read this fluff, mambo. No one." But if you made it down here, I assume you did. Thank you for helping me feel less alone. If you'd like to continue to make me feel less alone, check me out at whtaft.tumblr.com. If not, that's okay, too. I have my stuffed animals to keep me company.


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